


Mr. Bubble

by chox55



Category: Keeping Up with the Kardashians RPF
Genre: Addiction, Alcohol, Drug Abuse, F/M, Keeping Up with the Kardashians - Freeform, RPF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-30
Updated: 2015-07-30
Packaged: 2018-04-12 03:37:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4463978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chox55/pseuds/chox55
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scott reflects on his choices.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mr. Bubble

Scott sunk down into his plush leather sofa, letting himself get lost in the mountain of pillows whoever decorated the condo he was renting decided was a good idea. He was a simple man with refined taste and never understood decorative pillows. Still, it felt nice.

His phone buzzed violently, nearly falling off the glass coffee table in front of him. Sports Center blared in the background. His eyes crossed as he tried to focus. It was almost 2pm and he still hadn’t gotten dressed for the day. Not after the night he had last night.

He pulled himself out of the pillows and grabbed his phone. Chris had texted him more photos from their night. Two of Scott with topless girls, one of Scott motorboating one of them, Chris doing lines off a girl’s breast. Scott sighed, he felt like shit. And it wasn’t from the two bottles of vodka. “The Lord’s gotta do what The Lord’s gotta do!” he texted back. 

He clicked the TV off and slipped his feet into a pair of Tom Ford slippers. Shoving his phone into his robe pocket he shuffled into the kitchen and grabbed a half-eaten carton of Chinese from the fridge. He had cancelled all of his meetings for the day, he didn’t want to have to deal with another human being. Not today.

As he headed upstairs, his phone buzzed again. “Fucking Chris,” Scott hissed. Chris Reda was his best friend, the guy who was there for him the most when his parents died. But Scott was growing tired of the nonstop partying. Booze and women had been his escape for nearly a decade, and as much as he knew he needed to quit — wanted to quit — it wasn’t so easy. Hell, he got paid to party. It was practically his profession at this point. How could he give that up?

Turning on the bathtub, Scott slipped out of his robe and grabbed his favorite bubble bath: Mr. Bubble. He added a few drops of lavender oil, a trick he learned from Kourtney, and shed the rest of his clothes. Sinking into the warm water, Scott exhaled. The bubbles tickled his beard, and he started swirling them around with his hands. At home — or what used to be home — bubble baths were his favorite way to spend time with Penelope and Mason. Mason would pile a ton of bubbles onto his head, and Scott would sculpt it into a ‘do. He called it “The Sud Salon.” His lower lip trembled just thinking about his kids. 

He glanced at his phone perched on the toilet seat. He thought about calling Kourt all the time, but it had been weeks since he sent her a barrage of texts for 3 days straight and left 42 voicemails on her phone — half of them while drunk. Now they communicated through their assistants, mostly about their children. He was past the point of wanting to obsessively tell her how sorry he was, as if that would somehow change his mistakes. Hell, he could barely apologize before fucking up again. It was pointless.

He sunk lower into the tub, the suds inching towards his nose. His phone buzzed again and he reached an arm out of the tub to grab a towel. It was a text from Khloe, a photo of her, Kourtney, Mason and P by the pool. “MIss u!!!!” He also had 4 missed calls from his manager, probably with another 1 OAK event. Scott could care less.

He tossed his phone across the room, relishing the cracking noise as it bounced off the bidet. Khloe was the only Kardashian who still spoke to him, and even she didn’t reach out much. Most of the family had cut him off, they were fiercely loyal to Kourtney but every now and then Khloe would text a photo or something cute to remind Scott of what he was missing, as if a selfie of her holding his kid covered in ice cream would be the cure-all to his problems. 

His problems. Where to begin? Well there was the drinking, but he had cut back significantly. He was keeping a low profile since returning from Monte Carlo. Now, he only drank — mostly by himself — in the privacy of his own condo. He hadn’t slept with anyone else in nearly two weeks, which was some kind of record. He still happily jerked off to nudes Chloe sent him, but not without feeling the slightest twinge of guilt. At least he felt something.

It was easy to keep fucking up when your significant other kept forgiving you. Forgiveness is a virtue, but for Scott it was an enabler. People said that addicts need kindness, compassion and support, but Scott needed to wallow in the reality of his consequences — no family, few real friends — before admitting his deep-rooted issues. He had lost nearly everything, and it was only now he was beginning to realize that maybe this needed more than a week in rehab.


End file.
